How to Catch a Sinful Marquess - Amy Rose Bennett Page 0,6
the low chair before her cherrywood dressing table, Olivia took down her hair. She couldn’t bear her melancholy reflection in the looking glass, so she dropped her gaze to the small pile of pins growing in front of her.
Things could be worse, she told herself. At least she had real friends in the world who did care for her. Unfortunately, the number of occasions she’d been allowed to socialize with Charlie, Sophie, and Arabella since the academy incident had been few and far between. A mere handful of rare, treasured moments that she held safe in her heart like all the precious mementos in her keepsake box.
A small, sad smile curved Olivia’s lips. Perhaps she should keep a section of her gown’s torn flounce as a special reminder of her encounter with Lord Sleat. She’d much rather marry a noble, considerate man like him.
A vivid memory of a glowing Sophie and her handsome, besotted bridegroom, Lord Malverne, suddenly entered her mind’s eye. In June, Lady Chelmsford had persuaded Aunt Edith and Uncle Reginald to let Olivia attend Sophie’s wedding at Lord Malverne’s lovely country estate in Gloucestershire. Lady Chelmsford, who’d acted as her chaperone, had promised to procure Almack’s vouchers for Prudence and Patience next Season if her aunt and uncle agreed to the arrangement. It was the perfect enticement; Aunt Edith hadn’t been able to resist.
Sadly, Lord Sleat hadn’t been at the wedding. Nor had Arabella; she’d been in Switzerland, where she met and married Gabriel, Lord Langdale. By all accounts, both she and Lord Langdale were deliriously in love. Just like Sophie and her adoring viscount.
Olivia began to ruthlessly braid her brown hair. It would not be like that with Felix. He despised her, and it was abundantly clear he only wanted her for one thing—her fortune. Marriage to him would be intolerable. But it had been easy to brush it all aside—his odious presence and her aunt and uncle’s insidious hints—when Felix was away at university, and more recently, when he’d embarked on a Grand Tour of the Continent this summer.
But now he was back . . . Olivia shuddered and gazed at her own reflection, her pale face pinched with worry, her dark eyes solemn. No one should have to marry against his or her will.
But what if Uncle Reginald and Aunt Edith do try to force you to marry Felix, Olivia de Vere? What will you do then?
The terrifying answer was: she really had no idea.
CHAPTER 2
There have been varying reports that a banshee was let loose in Grosvenor Square late on September 15 or thereabouts . . .
The Beau Monde Mirror: The Society Page
Sleat House, Grosvenor Square
September 15, 1818
God’s blood, he needed a drink.
Hamish ground his teeth together with gravel-crushing force as he sloshed whisky into a crystal tumbler. It didn’t matter that the walnut longcase clock in the corner of his library proclaimed the hour to be three o’clock in the afternoon. When faced with a fresh family crisis of this magnitude, he found that strong liquor was the only remedy that would at least partially dampen the angry fire raging through his veins. The anxiety churning in his belly.
Crossing back to his carved oak desk with his drink, he snatched up the letter the courier had delivered not ten minutes ago. Lord Angus MacQueen, his younger brother, had been quite clear. Their nineteen-year-old sister, Isobel, had apparently been planning to run off with Angus’s tutor, a young man who also happened to be the local minister’s brother. Hamish had to give it to Brodie MacDonald; the young man had balls. But not for much longer.
Hamish’s mouth twisted with a sardonic grin. Not when he was done with him.
No, there wasn’t a single doubt in Hamish’s mind that he must return to his ancestral home, Muircliff Castle on the Isle of Skye, at once. Never mind that he’d been there three months ago, when everything had been quite fine. Mother had been well—well, as well as could be expected. And Isobel had seemed content enough.
However, he’d clearly been so preoccupied with battling his own demons, he failed to notice the tutor sniffing around his sister like a randy dog. And beneath his own roof!
A muscle pulsed in Hamish’s jaw. God, how he hated Muircliff, that great pile of rocks overlooking the cold, crashing sea. He didn’t want to go back. Hadn’t planned to go back until Christmastide. But needs must when the devil drives, hey, MacQueen?